


Basic Astrology

by Poodleofhell (MephistosPoodle)



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Also kind of old, Astrology Metaphors, Brotherly Angst, Doesn't take season 2 into consideration, Flashbacks, M/M, Phillipe hates on Louis, Poetry, Somewhat Random, kitschy writing, written in 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 19:55:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12824919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MephistosPoodle/pseuds/Poodleofhell
Summary: A terrible painting in his quarters makes Philipe think back at events from his life, soon he finds himself examining the twisted relationship he and his brother brother share. Truly, it's almost like an independent position was never an option for him in this universe, but still there is someone who makes him forget that.





	Basic Astrology

 

__

 

 

_I tremble at the sight of the world you have created._

_A monstrous thing adorned with plated gold but rotten to the core._

_A brave new world that circles around a sun and bears your face._

 

_But mind, there is another power in this universe._

_Banned to circle your creation in endless repetition._

_The moon is nothing compared to the sun in size_

_but when those villagers and soldiers_

_speak of the sky that is the ceiling of their humble lives,_

_they speak of both sun and moon in universal balance._

-:-

1670

Philippe sits in his quarters filled with disgust.

This happens to him a lot lately and he can't quite pinpoint what exactly it is, that lets him sit there in the beautiful venetian armchair, stomach twisting and veins pulsing with something that turns more and more into rage with every second.

The painting his majesty has given, or rather forced upon, him for his birthday two weeks ago stares back at Philippe with a dozen dead, oil panted eyes.

His grip tightens around the silver plated wood of the armrest at the sight of the picture and he tightens it further, until he can feel the pain all the way to his elbow.

Apparently it has come as far as this now. Even in Philippe's own head Louis now is no longer his brother. Louis is his majesty now, wholly consumed by this golden persona that has been in him from birth like a virus. Now it has finally taken him over completely, has taken Louis and the rest of the world as well.

When he loosens his fingers because he fears he might seriously wound himself, the painting is still there as though it wants to remind him once more of his fate as the kings rag doll.

It's a family portrait. A family portrait of all things.. This might just be the most hurtful thing his brother has ever placed in his rooms.

Excluding Henriette of course.

The large picture shows the king himself sitting to the right in silken pavilion, surrounded by a pool of all his children. He is dressed as Apollo while his wife is clad in a robe inspired by Diana. Flowers, painted only in the most exquisite Italian colors bloom around the king and Nocret has made it look like all the light in the picture comes from Louis face.

They put Philippe in the lower corner on the left side, far away from the pavilion and the flowers, in a dark thicket of evergreens, dressed as either Dionysus or maybe Pomona he isn't completely sure. Henriette is standing a bit aside Philippe and has light shining of her as well, she is also wearing a robe in the colors of Apollo.

And so his painted self sits there, in the dark corner of this Nocret masterpiece, staring emptily at the beholder while holding his single child as if to remind everyone of how much richer his brother is in children.

They have truly never come past the point in time when they used to compare their tiny little dicks in size, have they?

Two royal toddlers in the corner of the bathing room, competing for no apparent reason.

-:-

_The moon is no planet of of light, no raging ball of fire._

_It's power is strange. Connected to water and darkness_

_and femininity_

_And all the other things most men fear in the depths of their hearts._

-:-

1658

He first meets the Chevalier in a ballroom. Philippe likes to think that it couldn't have been anywhere else. That a creature like his Chevalier, such a beautifully devious creature like this could not have been found anywhere else and could not have survived in any habitat but in a ballroom.

It has been a while and Philipe doesn't remember all of it. He doesn't remember whose ballroom it was, exactly and neither does he remember the occasion. It must have been somewhere around spring because Philippe recall wearing a pale blue jacket and a silver waistcoat, decorated with intricate designs of flowers and swallows in flight.

What he remembers vividly however is a flash of golden locks moving between the guests like a hummingbird, shining in the light that reflects from the chandeliers and mirrors.

A younger more carefree version of himself introduced itself to a man with the same name that day.

„You are a delightful dancer Chevalier." He hears himself saying in the chatter of the festivity.

What he gets as an answer is a flash of mischievous brown eyes and an almost canine smile. „Well thank you Monsieur, I am flattered - Since dancing is one of the few qualities that count for anything these days, I can take pride in your praise and let it make up for my sins." says a voice made for conversation. Philippe can indeed see all the sins very well, engraved in this foxy grin and those glittering lashes.

They talk all evening - or rather dance, with sharp sparkling words. Bormots going back and forth, laughter echoing from the high ceiling and mirroring in their eyes.

Then the chevalier extends his hand and brushes back a strand of Philippe's hair, so softly it might have been a breeze of air. Philippe bites his lip and looks back into the obsidian eyes suggestively staring at him. In a haze he drags the Chevalier through the endless hallways, away from the people, until finally, they find a room that is empty and private.

There, Philippe lets his fingers get lost in the golden locks and feels those near carnivore teeth brushing his neck.

Everything about the Chevalier is angelic and sinful in this moment, every bit of him is golden and utterly beautiful. Philippe wants touch him badly, wants to dominate and worship him. He wants to give in completely to this lucifer of a man.

„I fear I haven't asked the whole of your first name yet mon cher." Philippe breathes into another heated kiss.

„Je m'appelle Philippe." answers this delightful voice. And he can't help but laugh, there, in some strangers bedroom.

There seems to be two of them now. And in this moment he hopes that here might always be two of them now.

-:-

_You, sun, beam with seemingly infinite strength._

_Hot luminous power, unforgiving and cruel._

_Plentitude blooms under your light, grows at your mercy_

_until it dies and burns to ashes under the heat._

-:-

1670

Philipe can't help but chuckle slightly at the way his own mind has been spinning madly through emotional peaks and meadows just now. Maybe the temperament truly does run in the family. He will stand up now, amidst his mental journey through the twisted abyss of his own mind, to meet friend - people of the court and other monsters.

He will return to this eventually, he thinks, as he throws a last hateful glance at the painting standing amidst the room; there's still more to reflect on the subject.

**Author's Note:**

> So that's that. Well, this thing is about a year old and I did not proofread it at all so yeah... I just had this lying around and I felt like it would make more sense if I put it online for people to read. If you enjoyed it do let me know; I might come around to continuing this concept at some point.


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